


Opened

by fellowshipper



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:32:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fellowshipper/pseuds/fellowshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint doesn't know who exactly is pulling the strings or what kind of being is even powerful enough to hold a god under its thumb, but he doesn't need to know the details to know the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opened

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: [Avengers movieverse, Clint + Loki, doors open both ways (there’s a bleed-through)](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/341490.html?thread=60503538#t60503538)

_Doors open both ways._

One of the last things Clint remembers hearing before everything goes muddled and hazy and everything he is, everything he _thought_ he was is stripped aside and he's pulled out into the sun, skinned and raw. The heat arcs through him in a white hot flash of pain, but then just as quickly as he begins to process it, it goes cold, settles as ice in his blood and numbs him to the bone. The Tesseract brings the truth into the light, exposes it and makes everything clearer. It _is_ truth, and Clint sees this now. But it's not a one-way deal. It also exposes everything around it, and those who would attempt to wield its power without fully understanding it. 

Loki thinks he does. He knows power, can taste it at the very tip of his tongue and it tastes like blood and madness and craving, but he doesn't know. He worries. It twists in his gut and he rages with uncertainty, because he has been given power that is not his, and which is using him just as he attempts to use others. He is but another player in the puppet show of the damned, and Clint doesn't know who exactly is pulling the strings or what kind of being is even powerful enough to hold a god under its thumb, but he doesn't need to know the details to know the truth. 

"You're worried about your brother." 

When Loki looks up from where he's huddled against the wall, his eyes are sharp and manic, his lips thin and pulled taut into a snarl. He's been startled out of whatever self-imposed reverie he was in, Clint realizes. Loki is a rabid dog which has been caged so long, it no longer knows how to react to freedom, however false and temporary that freedom may be. Somewhere in the back of Clint's mind, the part that is still irrevocably _him_ , he laughs. 

"I don't recall asking for your input." He pauses, eyes flicking back to watch Selvig and his team. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, some of the harsh edges blunted. "But if you must know, I'm not especially worried about Thor this very moment, or the other humans he keeps as his new pets." 

Clint tilts his head slightly to the side. "That wasn't what I meant. You're worried _for_ him." 

The snarl relaxes into something closer to a sneer, though to call it anything like a smile would be overly generous. "Hardly. Thor has shown himself more than capable of keeping himself alive." 

"Against the army you have acquired, though?" 

"Against more than you can imagine." Loki sighs gently, finally getting to his feet and clasping his hands calmly behind his back. It's a gesture Clint--the other Clint still clinging to his memories--remembers as a soldier's pose. A leader. A thinker. Loki doesn't so much as glance at Clint as he continues to speak. "You are useful, Barton, but I would suggest you not take your usefulness for granted by overstepping your bounds. You will take care how you speak to me in the future." 

It isn't a request or even a stern recommendation. Clint recognizes an order when he's given one. 

"You wanted me to tell you everything I know and see, sir," Clint answers guilelessly, prompting Loki to chuckle under his breath. 

"So I did." 

It happens too quickly for Clint to track. One second he's standing next to his new leader, and the next he's bent backwards over a shipping container, Loki's hand tight around his throat and choking off his airway, sharp, jagged fingernails digging into his skin. 

"I will strip the flesh from your bones and leave your stinking, rotting carcass for the vultures to feast upon if you mention my brother again. You believe you have the answers, Barton? That you can see so easily through me? Find the lie in _that_." 

Clint says nothing. He doesn't need to. The truth is staring directly back at him, wide-eyed, panicked to have been found out. He doesn't need to say anything at all, and when he doesn't, Loki smiles, strokes bloodied fingertips over Clint's neck, and releases him. 

They both know. They face each other in the doorway the Tesseract has opened, creator and creation, and they know.


End file.
